Without So Much As A Sideways Glance
by SerpicoCanari
Summary: Facilier meets Ross, a wandering immortal who denies his past. When Facilier loses the frog Nauveen, Ross offers an unbeatable plan B. But when Facilier gets what he wants, he realizes he lost what mattered. Pre/During-movie. All canon characters included
1. Just a Little Card Reading

_Hey guys. I don't own Facilier, or any other characters from the movie. I didn't want anyone to get confused. ;) Okay. Also, I need to throw in as a further disclaimer that this is a HIGHLY self-indulgent story. _

_Story begins BEFORE the movie. By the next chapter I'll have decided if it's a few months, or a few years before… And I may stray from cannon, in terms of plot. Bear with me, you'll like it. Probably._

_Let's go._

xxxx

Facilier liked to people watch when business was slow at his little table on the main street. That wasn't too often, but it was summer, and the tourists were seeking better climes at this time of the year. It was such that he was actually playing with the idea of turning in back at the emporium early, and taking a lazy afternoon. But…he needed all the money he could get. He only brought out his table a few days a week.

He frowned, looking around. No potential customers. Facilier had had only one girl at his table today. He may need money, but he wasn't going to get it sitting there. The air was thick and humid, the sun beating down, and Facilier was dressed all in black. Quitting for the day was getting more and more attractive.

Lazy wails from a saxophone floated through the quarter. Facilier looked over to the musicians sitting in the shade by the shops and restaurants, and saw the saxophone player. It was a white young man, _odd_, but not shocking. What was worth noticing was his long, long black hair, reaching down to his hips. Not even women wore their hair that long, or even in the manner this boy did, free and tousled carelessly…except while….

Facilier shook his head. What ever- the boy was probably some stupid run-away-youth with romantic visions of New Orleans in his head. Or a crazy person. But who was he to really say or care? Most people thought similar or worse about him.

He decided to pack up and go, losing interest with the heat sucking out his energy.

xxxxx

Out again, a few days later. The Quarter was far busier, it being Saturday. The Witchdoctor was busy with a group of white teenagers.

"Well, little darlin' –lookin' at this card it's plain y'all be married before spring arrives."

The girl squealed, nuzzling her beau, who seemed a bit abashed at the attention.

Though he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the predictability of their reactions, he still found the attention intoxicating, and putting on a little show was something that meshed with him like sugar and beignets.

Facilier was about to ask who would be his next reading when the guys in the back looked behind them and moved aside quickly, alarmed by what they saw but trying to hide it at the same time.

"Hey, what do you think youre doing?" One of them said.

The rest of the group looked back one by one, stepping aside.

It was the saxophone player. He looked back at the high schooler, one brow slightly raised, the corner of his mouth teasing up as if to go into a smirk.

"I think I'm waiting to see the Witchdoctor." His voice was calm, with a faint lilt that was only found in the speech of someone educated. "Do you mean to say I'm in the wrong line?" He made a play-face of being distressed and gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "Say it aint so!"

The girls laughed, the boy who'd spoken earlier turned red.

"No, you're in the right place, Tommy just don't like bein' snuck up behind." A blonde in a blue dress spoke, putting a hand on Tommy's arm.

Tommy stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

"Come on, guys, this stuff's stupid anyways." He said. He started walking off, the blonde clinging on his arm trying to cajole him back. The rest of the group looked at each other. Facilier stood up.

"Now, come on, just cuz your friend's upset don't have to ruin y'alls fun-" He stepped out from behind the table, bending down to one of the girls "don't you wanna take a little trip into your future with me?"

She smiled, tilting her head to the side.

"I wish I could, but we're wanting to move on to the shops. Maybe another time." She handed him some bills, and nudged her friend to do the same. "Thank you though," She smiled at him again, "It was a _revelation."_ She winked and then the group was off.

Facilier looked at the young man now before him, feeling sour about losing the group.

"Welcome to the table of Dr. Facilier." He said, with a little bow. _Can't get into a mess over every group that wanders off early._ He sat down, and splayed his hand in a gesture toward the young man. "So, what can I do for yuh?"

The saxophone player walked up to the table, looking at Facilier with a weird intensity. Facilier resisted the urge to frown.

"Well, I like to visit a fortune teller or occultist now and then, and see if they're the real deal or not." The young man smiled.

It was pretty rare when Facilier felt the tingles on his neck, but there was that "off" feel about this guy. Yes, tonight he'd be making sure this guy wasn't following him 'round back to the Emporium. He's had some situations before…

"Well, young man, I can assure you Dr. Facilier is as genuine as they come." He added his own graceful smile. Usually it would warm the usual sucker right up and nice.

The young man laughed.

"You all say something like that." He set down his saxophone case (which was a thick, leather briefcase) upright and sat on the top. "You really ought to provide your customers a chair- or maybe that's your way of shuffling them along quickly, eh?"

"You're observant."

Now that the young man was closer, he began looking over him intently for any clues he could gather. He was clearly intelligent, probably arrogant. And though he was dressed in a button-up and trousers with suspenders like the rest of the street musicians the quality was much higher, and he could tell without touching it that it was softer than what they sold to the lower class. Wealthy? Aside from his long, black hair, he was also visually distinctive with yellow-colored eyes. Or maybe they were just a very, very light brown and the light hit them funny. But then again, Facilier himself had purple eyes, so odd eyes weren't too wild of a thing to accept. His face had a Greek profile, his skin had a faint olive tone, though he was lighter than the Mediterranean immigrants. Maybe he was Italian? Doesn't talk like it…

"You probably are too, considering your profession."

Facilier stopped and looked back at the young man's face. He was grinning broadly, clearly amused. Facilier grabbed his tarot deck and began shuffling, annoyed that he had let himself blatantly stare.

"Well, let's get this thing goin'. Maybe you already know the process, but you're gonna take three cards from me, and we'll take a little peek into your future and see what we can see."

The young man pulled out a cigarette case and slid one out, putting it between his lips. He tipped the case towards Facilier.

"Care for a burn?"

Facilier had never heard it referred to like that before, and didn't know where it could be common to do so.

"No, I prefer cigars myself…need a light?"

"Yeah, thanks." The young man hid away his case.

Facilier continued to align the cards together with one hand and brought out a little silver lighter with the other (he kept around for this purpose). He noted that the cigarette hanging in the guy's mouth was of a brand prized by the elite for its smooth smell and taste. His previous dismissal of this guy being a naïve run-away entered his mind again.

"Say, mind tellin' me your name, young man?"

He flicked the lighter lid up and the little flame danced around. The young man leaned forward, putting the end of his cigarette in the flame, holding it just before his mouth between two fingers. But his eyes were on Facilier sitting across the table the whole time. Creepy. Facilier narrowed his eyes, frowning despite being "at work". He snapped the lighter's lid closed and brought it back towards him when he saw it was lit. His customer leaned back and took a long drag, closing his eyes briefly before blowing out.

"Ross."

Facilier raised a brow.

"Do yuh gotcha self a last name there?"

Ross chuckled.

"Haven't had one of those for a while. Guess it's about time I get one again, the world seems to be getting to a point that everyone has to have one to be credible." He sat, elbows on his knees, chin planted on top of one hand. "And you- _Dr._ Facilier- have you a first name?"

"Haven't had one of those in a while." He replied. He finished shuffling, and spread the cards in a fan before Ross. "Just take three."

Most people grabbed three next to each other, Ross picked his cards one at a time, but quickly. He laid them on the table, face down, as Facilier put the deck to the side. Facilier looked at Ross again, to get a sense impression. Usually it was clear and straight-forward. It was pretty clear this time, but he doubted its accuracy. His sense was that this was not a man who was anywhere near young, and who was drifting aimlessly in the world. He didn't look a day over 20. Facilier felt his gut twist and an incredible sense of dread, as he stilled himself, feeling for any images or impressions on this man's past. It was mostly black. Usually this happened with people who were in denial, or had made themselves forget some horrible event. He did catch glimpses of a woman, laughing- and the sense of being grabbed from behind. He drew back and grounded himself, not wanting to look further. Facilier looked around at the street to put himself back fully in the present.

"I don't suppose y'all remember much about yourself." Facilier said wearily. He turned over the first card. He felt a bit of self-satisfaction as he saw a flash of recognition on Ross' face.

"No one's ever known that..." Ross said softly.

Facilier felt a surge of desperation come from him.

"And you wish y'all could remember but you're scared of _what_ you'll remember…_and that's why y'alls here to see me._" Facilier watched Ross' face carefully, who nodded.

"To know the truth." Ross said.

He always was right about his customers, but he felt excited all the same. He loved unraveling people.

They looked at the card.

It was black.

Facilier shrugged.

"We already know you either don't remember much or in denial about what did-" Ross looked at him "so let's see what else the cards got to say."

He swept his hand over the card to get the next image. Since the card was an object it would find memories far easier than Facilier could, as a deck of cards wouldn't succumb to emotional overload from prying around in someone's psyche. Plus, he could pick up impressions from the cards with minor stress.

This time the card showed a child version of Ross curled in a corner of a library, sleeping.

"As a child, whenever you could, you'd sleep in your dead daddy's library. You were hiding from something, someone, and you felt safe there. Your youth was filled with fear. But y'all came from a family with money. Y'all's daddy was a Lord."

"Yes…I remember the library. I remember going to the Prince's court with my…" Ross stiffened, "mother."

"Let's change the picture." Facilier ran his hand over again.

He sat back, startled. Ross put his hand to his mouth, eyes wide.

This time Ross was slightly older, a teen perhaps, stark naked and upside down with his hands and feet bound. _Reminiscent of The Hanged Man, _thought Facilier. On the card Ross was surrounded by blacked out figures, with knives and medieval devices, shadow limbs and bodies all over Ross. He sensed that the card was not being metaphorical; that Ross had been literally subjected to what was depicted. He had been very much a slave. But how? By whose will?

Facilier ran his hand over again, the card showing dead bodies, maimed and in pieces. He was hit by the impression that _Ross_ had done this, he was saving someone, lost himself in the moment. But also he felt that killing was frequent.

"Life was violent, none of it was ever of your choosing. It was forced on you. Lot's of things were forced on you." Facilier felt uneasy, Ross shifted on his briefcase, looking uneasy. "It's not gonna look brighter if I keep goin. We can just go on to the next card if y'all want."

"Just…one more, then go on."

Facilier sighed. _He_ wanted to stop. He almost wanted to look away as he ran his hand over again. Then he relaxed, it was just a blonde noblewoman reclining on a chair, seductively, at that. But Ross leapt up.

"No!" He looked terrified, and of a little card. Some people in the street looked over at the table, wondering what the fuss was about.

Facilier looked at the card again. This was Ross' mother. The one responsible for the previous images, and far more.

"Listen, darl-" he caught himself "Ross, we're gonna move on- no body here likes what's been showin'. I can see y'all got a past worth cryin' 'bout, but I think we oughta see what bright shiny things are waitin' in the future." He swiped the 'past' card off the table and into the middle of the deck. "How about it?"

Ross took a few puffs off his cigarette, staring at the table. He reached into his pocket and tossed a small bundle of bills onto the table.

"Maybe later. Sorry about chasing off those teenagers earlier."

He turned around and quickly walked off.

Facilier didn't try to stop him, just watching him go- until he noticed he left his briefcase with the saxophone behind. He stood up.

"Hey- boy!"

Ross disappeared behind one of the shops and into an alley. Facilier sat back down, sighing. He wasn't leaving his table to return some guy's briefcase._ If it's that important he'll come back and get it himself._

Facilier scooped up the money and hid it in his coat, and turned his attention to the other two cards. He flipped them over. They were blank. He slipped them back into the deck, put out that he couldn't satisfy his curiosity.

xxxxx

That evening Ross hadn't returned for his saxophone. Facilier packed up his table, and decided to take it with him and be back out in the quarter tomorrow. The man _did_ give him one hundred dollars. When he actually counted it he nearly fell over. He was not usually the recipient of generosity, though, in this case his customer had been extremely flustered when he left. He hoped he wouldn't ask for any of it back. Facilier would say he already spent it. As he walked to the Emporium he let everything slip from his mind, talking with his shadow all the way.

xxxxx

_ Let me know what you think- although admittedly there might not be much to say at this point. Things will pick up more next chapter and be more "interwoven", I was just itchin to get started though. _

_Thanks for reviewing! Oh…I mean _reading, reading….*hinthint*


	2. Drunken Slip Ups

**I decided. This story begins about six months before the events of the movie, give or take. Other characters will show up far before then. In fact, next chapter. Also, let me know mistakes or way to improve keeping in character for everyone, gracias mucho.**

**FRENCH WORDS IN THIS CHAPTER: quite a few are cuss words. fun. anyways- _monsieur_ is mister, or sir. _oui_ is yes. _Merde_ is the expletive sh*t or damn. _Putain_ means whore, but it is used pretty much exactly how we use f*ck. _Mon Dieu_ is My God. Casse_-toi_ means f*ck off, or a really mean bugger off. _Merci_ is thanks. _L'ombre_ is shadow.**

**Baron Samedi is a voodoo loa/spirit who looks a lot like Facilier, so its speculated that the Baron is one of his spirits of choice. Samedi means saturday, for what it's worth.**

**I thought it'd be more useful to put that at the top of the chapter, than bottom. And I dont know why I censor the curse words here, they're not down below. XD**

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><p>The rich boy didn't show up that day, and Facilier wasn't dragging that saxophone case out with his table a second time. It was too troublesome to keep an eye on everything. Thanks to his constant wariness of others, none of his customers ever succeeded in being slick-fingered with him.<p>

Another day was gone, and Facilier had hoisted everything home and finished putting all objects in their proper places. He flopped onto a chair and peeled off his coat, tossing it to the side. His shadow removed his hat, placing it on the table. Afterward it shifted around, bored, restless. Facilier hung his head back, staring at the ceiling.

The shadow was making little noises at Facilier, pestering him for _fun_. That could mean many different things. Facilier sat up, rubbing his face.

"Let's see what's up at Dallie's."

Dallie's was a club down in the area of New Orleans where people of his caliber and lower lingered. And it was entirely free of tourists. Shadow clucked its approval.

...

When Facilier entered Dallie's, he was greeted by nods and wary glares. He liked Dallie's because he knew he was respected there. Feared. Facilier's shoes crunched on peanut shells and little frog bones left on the floor by patrons. The bartender, Feno, greeted him.

"Ey, Shadowman, what's it ta be tah-night?"

"Something _real_ strong." Facilier sat at the bar, and looked at him. "Use your imagination. I need relaxin' after a hot day."

Feno moved around taking bottles and mixing. He was in his sixties, and on the heavy side…his wife cooked rich dishes. Feno looked at Facilier as he set the glass down.

"We's not gonna have trouble like the last time, are we?"

Last time Facilier got into a fight with a patron and his shadow dragged the man outside, screaming, without Facilier's command. No one knew what happened, not even Facilier. It scared a lot of folks, and almost got calls for the police from the noise. No one in the club dared report- what _white_ police man would believe someone like them talking about shadows draggin' folk off into the night? They might just get themselves thrown in the loony bin.

"No, _Monsieur_, no trouble for a friend of Dr. Facilier." Facilier turned his violet eyes onto his shadow, "Ain't that right?"

Feno started when the shadow hummed in response.

"W-well, alrigh'. 'Long as we got that clear." He moved away to chat with patrons that didn't make his skin goosebump.

Facilier took the tall glass of whatever-the-hell it was and drank. The burn along his tongue and in his throat spread across his face, feeling too right for words. Feno had some magic stuff, because half-way through he was feeling buzzed and pleasantly disconnected from his body and the room. He didn't want to talk to anyone, just sit and observe. Pretend for a while he was just a pair of eyes, and didn't exist at all. Facilier turned to look over the room.

His eyes were drawn to him immediately, he couldn't be missed. The saxophone player. He wasn't the only white fella there, but definitely the cleanest. And that hair would mark him anywhere.

"Hey Sax-Man!" Facilier called, words coming a little slower than normal.

Ross was playing cards and drinking with a sailor and two other musicians, but he heard Facilier, and turned his head. He raised a brow.

"Well, if it isn't the good Doctor!" Ross laughed. "I think I should say hello," he looked at his table mates, who shook their heads _no_. "don't you guys think I should say hello?" He stood up, not waiting for an answer.

Facilier watched Ross pick up his winnings and stuff them in his pockets. The sailor grabbed onto him.

"Ey, man, whatchu doin'? Don't go on socializin' wif tha' damn Shadowman."

His other tablemates protested.

"You ain't done playin' wif us!"

Ross plucked the sailors hands off him, staring at him a moment. The sailor sat back down, mumbled something then crossed himself.

"Whatever I put in the center can stay, you fellas keep it." Ross said.

"Aw com'on, Ross, you don' wanna sit wid'at borin' fella ova' there."

"Serious talk kid, you _don'_ wanna mess wid'a Shadowman!"

Ross nodded, and walked over to the bar anyway. The three left at the table sat down slowly, as if they were expecting Ross to drop dead any moment. Ross held out his hand to Facilier, lop-sided smile on his face.

"Dr. Facilier, good to see you. Is this a place you frequent?"

Facilier smirked, seeing Feno and the others taking subtle glances at the young man in front of him who called _The Shadowman_ by name. He took Ross' hand, and shook it.

"_Oui, _it most surely is. Why dontchu go on and have yuhself a seat. I…" Facilier was disoriented a bit as Ross took the stool beside him, and he refocused his gaze onto the yellow eyes now close by. "I got yuh saxophone case. I want it outta my place tonight."

"Sure thing, Doctor." Ross turned to Feno, who was standing near to see if he wanted a drink, and he did. "Mr. Feno, would you please give me the bottle of…Isobene Bourbon?"

"The whole bottle?" Feno looked at Facilier. "Is yer friend right in the head?"

Facilier shrugged.

"Don't you worry, I have money for it right…" Ross pulled out the appropriate amount of coin, putting it on the bar top. "Right here."

"Yes, sir…" Feno shook his head, took the money and brought the bottle back.

"Would you like something, Doc?" Ross asked.

"Nah, well, maybe another glass of the stuff from before, eh- Feno?"

"Yes, yes, whatever he had, here you go." Ross put up more money.

Feno rolled his eyes and made another mixed glass for Facilier.

"Ey- did y'all just roll yuh eyes at me?" Facilier raised his voice. "Do y'all find me _funny_?" He slapped a hand on the bar top, the club became quiet.

"Aw, who cares if he did. Calm down." Ross said.

"Hush fool-" Feno said. To Facilier, after setting down his glass; "I'm real sorry, I was jus' thinkin' 'bout somethang ma wife was goin' on about the other day."

"No you wasn't- now y'all's lyin to me!"

Ross opened the bottle, pulling the cork out with his fingers (unnoticed, as all eyes were on Facilier). He watched with bored eyes a moment, then took a long drink.

"I don' wan' no trouble, lez jus' forget 'bout this and enjoy the evenin'." Feno said.

The rest of the club was holding their breath, pretending not to watch, yet all their attention focused on Facilier. Facilier smashed his first emptied glass on the floor, then reached across the bar to clutch Feno's collar. The shadow was swirling lazily on the ceiling, grinning at those who looked up.

"Don't you order me around, fat-man. Facilier don' ever forget!"

A bottle cork hit Facilier right on the nose, and bounced off onto the floor.

_Everyone's_ eyes, including Facilier and Feno, swiveled onto Ross. They were openly gawking now.

"Are y'all drunk stupid?" Feno whispered frantically.

Ross was laughing hysterically, holding the bourbon in one hand by the neck, the other slapped his knee. He took another swig. The shadow on the ceiling trembled then let out it's own howling laughter. Facilier let go of Feno, who backed up against the wall. Facilier looked up.

"Y'all's a goddamn traitor!" Facilier shouted at the ceiling. Shadow quieted down, but everyone could still hear it snickering. Those near the door began to quietly slip out, afraid for the idiot sitting next to the witchdoctor. "And YOU." He snapped at Ross, who chuckled.

"Doctor, I came here for a good time." Ross said. "You need to…" he paused, raising a brow. "Calm the _fuck_ down."

Ross held his serious face for a second before busting into hysterics again.

Facilier snapped himself and started laughing, he sat back down and they were both in tears before finally quieting down. Facilier began drinking the second glass, now mellowed out. Feno shivered and retired to the back room. The rest of the club, gals and guys, looked at each other, then went back to their card games and gossip. Of course, one half of an ear still trained on the witchdoctor and crazy sax player.

"Y'all are a _dumb fuck_." Facilier said.

Ross laughed.

"Well, it worked didn't it?"

"I'm thinkin' I'm still gonna kill y'all for that." Facilier looked at Ross.

"Good luck." Ross smiled, cocky. "I would _love_ to see you try."

On the word _love_ Ross leaned close, tongue and lips overemphasizing, pausing one beat before continuing the sentence. In other words he said it like a dare and invitation. Facilier was feeling very clumsy now, again halfway through a glass, and didn't care what Ross meant. The shadow was collapsed on the floor, curled around Facilier's stool, a low hum coming from it. In the tune of a bar song.

"I bought some cigars, want one? Promise they're good." Ross said.

"Yeah, light it up for me while y'all's at it." Facilier said.

Facilier watched Ross fumbling slowly as he got out the cigars from a box in his coat, pulled out a lighter and struggled to flick the lighter right. _Drunk_, Facilier noted. Ross finally handed him a lit cigar, and Facilier puffed away, satisfied.

"Say, these are some damn fine cigars." Facilier said. Ross nodded.

They sat in silence, smoking. Drinking. They would glance at each other with hazy eyes, taking empty observations. Facilier looked at Ross again and saw half of his bottle was empty. He felt a little stunned, as most people he knew would've been passed out by that point. Ross was nowhere near sober, though.

"Y'all look like a woman with all that dark hair." Facilier said, still staring. "Why donch'all cut it off?"

Ross looked at him, cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. One arm rested atop the bar.

"My lovers like it spread across their pillows." He smiled, wistfully. "They say it reminds them of spilled ink."

"Women all seem to lean towards poeticism, don' they now?" Facilier mused.

Ross smirked, brow raised. It seemed he purposely refrained from responding. Facilier drained the last of his glass, feeling hot all over his body. He felt restless now. He spoke again.

"Say, pretty boy, how 'bout I show you 'round the city." He stood up clumsily. "A Dr. Facilier Tour of the Crescent City."

"Sure thing, witchdoctor."

They linked arms and walked out together, everybody watching them exit. Shadow slinked on the floor behind them.

…...

Facilier groaned, morning light irritating his eyes. The light entered through the only window on his property, which was in his private quarters above his bed. His brain and eyes throbbed.

"_Merde_…" He sat up and rubbed his face.

Then he noticed the arm lying across his lap.

His eyes bugged out.

_"PUTAIN!" _

Facilier flung the arm off him and got off the bed, looking around for his clothes. The arm's owner, Ross, rolled over. He stayed asleep, surprisingly. Facilier snatched his pants off the floor and began jerking them back on.

He looked back at Ross, when he had firmly secured his trousers back on. Facilier slumped into an old, upholstered chair nearby. Ross' black hair was spread everywhere, he was sprawled over the bed, a purple satin sheet twisted around his legs and waist…not entirely covering everything. _Mon dieu._ Last night started pouring into his brain.

Dr. Facilier's "tour" turned into a bee-line to the Emporium and the back room, where…things happened. And now, he had a hang-over.

"Hey…" Facilier said. What was the fella's name again? Raw…Ross. "Hey ROSS."

Ross blinked his eyes, rubbed his face. His eyes trailed over to Facilier, seeing him, he propped himself up. He didn't seem the least bit shocked or fazed.

"Mmmm yes? Good morning."

"Get the hell outta my bed."

"Well, shit, make me feel welcome."

Ross got up, stretching and pulling the sheet off from around him. He found his shirt and pants easily, pulling them on and buttoning everything up. He left his suspenders dangling and his shirt partially tucked. Facilier had his head in his hands.

"Don't beat yourself up. This happens a lot." Ross said with a shrug.

"I ain't. My head feels like I smacked it on a brick."

Facilier looked at Ross from between his fingers, and saw that he was now standing in front of him, hands on hips, shaking his head with a sly smile on his face. He felt himself prickle.

"_Casse-toi._" Facilier snapped.

"I'm not laughing at you. I just wish I could help your hang over." Ross said.

"What about y'all? Huh?"

"I'm fine."

"Y'all are a fucking liar."

A floating cup of something dark and steaming passed into the room and stopped in front of Facilier. Ross looked and saw the shadow against the wall, holding the cup by it's own shadow. Facilier took the cup and saucer.

"_Merci L'ombre._"

"I have not seen that before." Ross said, his tone one of admiration. "Anyways," He looked at Facilier. "I'll take my saxophone and be out of your hair."

"Good. It's by the main door."

Ross gave a little bow.

"Thanks." He grinned.

Ross walked out. Out in the Emporium Facilier heard the front door open and close. Facilier had forgotten to lock the door last night, on top of everything else. _Putain._ He sighed. _Who does that fucking brat think he is…?_ He wasn't annoyed by waking up with a man in his bed. That…was just another flavor in life. His Baron Samedi himself did chasing on both ends. No…no, what he _hated_ was the idea that this spoiled white boy thought he had gotten the better of him. That this _boy_ thought he got away with something, duped him. He boiled at the thought, then pushed it from his mind.

He needed to focus on how to take the power and money he craved, _and_ fulfill his debt to his "friends". He could hex rich boy later.

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